


Blue-Eyed Fairy

by thursdaysisters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Leviathans, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-06 00:38:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thursdaysisters/pseuds/thursdaysisters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>S7, Castiel has been taken from the mental hospital to work for the Leviathans and Dean has to rescue him.  Rated for Destiel slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue-Eyed Fairy

"Dean, Dick Roman's on Oprah," said Sam, egg dripping from his fork, "Hugging a bald kid in a wheelchair."

Dean snatched the remote control from the fry cook's apron and turned up the volume.

"...and at a fraction of the cost of chemo, with none of the side effects," Dick said, petting the hand of a grateful mother.

"Truly a medical breakthrough, how did your team manage it?" asked the host.

Dick wagged his finger reprovingly. "Now now, girl's gotta have her secrets," he said, to a wave of titters from the audience, "Let's just say we found our little blue fairy to help turn Timmy here," he said, punching the sick kid playfully on the shoulder, "Back into a real boy."

Sam looked at Dean. "You don't think..."

Dean whipped out his phone. "Yes, this is Dean Smith," he said to the psych nurse on the other end, "Friend of Emmanuel's, just wanted to see how he's...I see, when?..."

Sam dropped some cash on the table and fished car keys out of his jacket.

"What happened?" he asked, holding the door open.

"Cas checked out a few days after we left him," said Dean, breakfast turning to battery acid in his gut, "And don't say I told you so."

"I wasn't-"

"You were thinkin' it."

Sam unlocked the car, ignoring this last jab. "So what's the plan?"

Castiel's face flashed in Dean's memory, crisp hospital whites, neatly parted hair, and a thousand-yard stare. At their last meeting, Cas had leafed thru a Gideon bible, repeating the same passage to himself, and it haunted Dean at the bottom of every bottle.

_"Don't urge me to leave you or to turn back from you."_

_"Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay."_

_"Where you die I will die, and there will I be buried."_

_"May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely," he said, his blue eyes lost in some distant fire, "If even death separates me from you."_

"Find him," said Dean, climbing into the driver's seat, tears springing unbidden, "And don't let him go again."

Back in the diner, the TV continued. "Starting next week, we're unveiling a new children's research facility, all possible thru private donors such as yourselves."

"And what's the hospital to be called?"

And showing off his teeth to the camera, "Saint Dick's."

(*)

"Why can't Mama come with me?" asked Ruth, chewing on her nail.

"It's just procedure," said the nurse, pressing the elevator button, "It's only a few minutes, we've got Nutter Butters and juice waiting for when you get back."

Ruth's stomach turned at the thought of food. Stage Four cancer had whittled her down to bones, and she hated the temptation of cookies if she was just going to puke them up again. But she had beat out hundreds of other sick kids to get on St. Dick's Research waiting list, and she wasn't going to start complaining now.

"Alright, he's waiting for you," said the nurse, pointing as the doors swished open, "Last door on the right, can't miss it."

Ruth stepped out, tennis shoes squeaking on the tile floor. She wasn't kidding, this floor only had the one door.

"Hey, aren't you..." she said, turning as the elevator shut behind her, "...coming with me?"

The numbers up top dinged in ascending order, and Ruth realized just how far underground she was. Rubbing sweaty palms against her skirt, she gave the security camera a hesitant smile, and walked toward the room.

She was about to knock when she heard a voice on the other side. "...that's impossible, there's not enough wood on this planet to accomplish such a task."

"Hello?" she said, staring at the giant blue caduceus stenciled on the door, a little corporate angel.

"It's unlocked."

She pushed it open, for a second wondering if she was in the right place. Except for a bed and a little mirror, the room was bare and poorly lit.

"Hi I'm..." she said, the words drying up in her mouth. A pale figure sat at the edge of the bed, with black hair and eyes like chips of ice, nose buried in a Gideon Bible and having a conversation with an empty chair.

"Who are you talking to?" she asked.

"My brother," said Castiel, turning a page, "He's trying to trick me."

She swallowed. Months in the hospital had aged her, and she has grown used to broken people. "What's he saying?"

"That he won. That everyone on Earth is dead," he said, huddling in the shadow of six billion crucifixes, "Everyone except for me."

"But I'm alive," she said, fingers trembling a little as she smiled, "So is my mom, and the nurse that brought me here."

"That is unforeseen," he said, "He will have to fetch more wood in that case."

She felt the hairs lifting on the back of her neck, and clutched the door frame.

"Don't worry," he said, looking up to inspect her, "You're so little, he could probably save himself the fourth nail."

"Why does everyone have to die?" she said, voice higher than she would have liked.

"I've done so many horrible things. He says only blood will atone," he said, chewing on the nib of his pen, "And he needs a hobby."

She cast about for something else to say, and her eyes lit on the Bible he was reading, the spine cracked as if he had been reading it all his life, though the cover declared it to be a recent edition. "Which bit are you on?"

"All of it."

"Really? That's um, a lot."

"But I can't find what I'm looking for," he said, "There's a way to fix all of this, it's in here, if I could just make sense of it..."

She walked over to him, peaking at a a passage underlined in ink, "But we all, with unveiled face beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are transformed into the same image from glory to glory, even as from the Lord the Spirit."

"Why that passage?" she asked.

"It has to do with souls," he said, eyes darting along he text, "You know why Adam was given a help-meet?"

"To make babies?"

"To reflect Heaven's glory," he said, unimpressed, "When two souls join, it's like holding a lens up to God's power. But they they don't just reflect that power twice as much, they reflect it sevenfold."

"That's pretty cool."

"It is 'cool'," he said, "And if I can figure out what the prophets mean, I may yet be able to smite my enemies and bring them low in fear and trembling."

"I'm working my way thru a commentary on the Pauline Epistles," she said, trying to make conversation, "Jonathan Edwards, pretty dreary stuff, yeah?"

"I remember him," he said distantly, "He rather enjoyed dangling believers over the abyss."

"Oh, well, ha, you know know what they say," she said nervously, "Calvinists are no fun at all."

He looked at her, and she flinched. "You're very funny."

"...no it's not."

"Yes it is. That's what I need, really, funny people. I used to have one," he said, his face clouding over, "But he let me go."

"Can't you go get him?" she said, "The door isn't locked."

"I've tried," he said, "The doctors always find me. I have to wait for him to find me first."

"You think he'll come?"

"He has to. I have something of his," he said, itching at his heart as if it were a little too big for him, "Something he hasn't had since I brought him back."

"Ah, well. Look, I don't mean to interrupt..." she asked, gesturing at the chair, "Whatever it is you're doing, but can you fix me?"

He looked up at her, and she froze. She'd never been alone with a man before, and she wondered how safe this really was.

Putting the book aside, he reached out and took her hand in his, tracing the lines in her palm. "How old are you?" he asked.

"Fourteen."

"You remind me of another girl the same age. She once told me something very interesting about the nature of love, but...that was a long time ago," he said, catching his reflection in the mirror, "Nearly two thousand years."

"You mean Mary?"

A memory flashed before Castiel's eyes, a kohl-eyed, knowing female seated on a tigerskin rug while the Evangelist's head bled in her lap. "No. Quite the opposite."

His hand went up to her forehead, and all the air rushed out as something hit her, big as a planet and light as moth's wings, and though the agony that had haunted her these last few months evaporated under his touch, she did not feel stronger. She felt like a bug under a magnifying class.

He watched her confusion with clinical detachment. A few more months in this place, with only angels for company, and he would lose even this much interest in humanity.

After a few minutes to gather her wits, she stood in the doorway and asked, "It's not my business, but...did you love your brother?"

He considered this, and from this angle she took a moment to appreciate how well-formed he was, and wondered that anyone would leave him in this place. "No. He never loved anyone, except for God."

"Well, then..." she said, hoping this didn't sound stupid, "He got it wrong. You can't just love _up_. You have to love _out_ as well."

He looked back at his little mirror, and the solution came to him. "You should go. My brother's returned," he said, "And he's found more wood."

(*)

The night nurse checked the last of the over-night patients, sparing the man in the corner a withering glance. "They're ready when you are." she said.

Castiel did not look up. Poking at the buttons beside the blank TV screen, ragged Bible in his other hand, he argued with the empty air.

"I don't know how to fix it, stop asking me." he muttered.

"What's the devil want now?" the nurse asked, fantasizing about the pizza boy, ground up in the freezer at home.

"He wants to watch the Weather Channel."

"Oh that's nice." she said, rolling her eyes and turning the TV on.

"He has a crush on the meteorologist," he continued, "Says it reminds him of Francesca di Rimini."

"Yeah, well, Dante was after my time," she said, sticking the channel changer in his hand, "George'll take you to your room in a half hour."

He looked over at the first bed, a doe-eyed boy under heavy sedation. They used to bring the children conscious, but Roman wanted to keep things "above board", which did not leave room for ten-year-olds spilling the beans on the 700 Club.

He laid his hand on the kid's forehead, listening to the cancer in his brain. If only he could fix himself so easily.

"Cas?"

Dean stood before him, sweaty and smudged from crawling thru an elevator shaft.

"Dean?"

"The guards change shift in seven minutes," he said, checking the room for cameras, "Sam's in the car, I got a rope hanging down inside the elevator if you're good to climb-"

"I was wondering when you would get here."

"Yeah, took us a while to get the building schematics-"

"Dean, do you understand this device?" he asked, fingering the channel changer.

"What?"

Cas turned to the TV screen, a pretty woman framing her hands around a hurricane radar map. "I keep getting the same channel."

Dean swallowed, his voice threatening to crack. "Cas, come on..."

"She's still in there." Cas said, not hearing him.

"Who's in there?"

"The girl in the storm," said Cas, his face drawn in the eerie screen glow, "Chained to her lover, hurtling round and round each other for eternity thru the swirling gyre, never again to know each other's touch."

"Come on, let's-"

"No Dean," he said, pulling away, "I have a plan, it's all written down, I've almost made sense of it..." And pulling out his pen, he began to scribble some more notes.

"Can you tell us your plan once we're outside?" Dean asked, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet.

"After resurrecting you, I took something on my way out of Hell," Cas began feverishly, "Something an angel has never possessed. Since my time here on Earth, it has grown more and more powerful, and if harnessed correctly, could provide me with enough temporary power to quash the Leviathans."

Dean blinked. "Well then that's awesome," he said, "How do we get it up and running?"

"It's in here somewhere," said Cas distantly, turning a page and causing several bookmarks to flutter at his feet, "But my brother's so loud, I can hardly think."

"Come on," he pleaded, taking his arm, leaning in close until his mouth was on Cas' ear, "Please, I'm sorry I left you. I swear, whatever it takes to make you better...but let's go, this place is no good."

"Oh no, stay a while," said a figure in the doorway, "We were just about to have lunch."

Dean swiveled around, gun barrel inches from Dick Roman's face.

"Mister Winchester."

"Spraytan."

"Ouch," said Roman, pressing the gun away with a single gloved finger, "I always feel a successful businessman stays camera ready."

"...with reports of winds up to eighty miles an hour..." said the TV.

"Oh this is my favorite," said Roman, smiling, "You know it's the only channel that Biggerson's advertises with?"

"That so."

"Oh yes, it's completely neutral. It's apolitical, objective, and most popular with single male sociopaths aged 18-35 during the 3 a.m. block, it's perfect for my constituency."

"Your...what?" asked Dean.

"You didn't hear?"

"...and now a word from our sponsor." said the TV.

Roman took a moment to savor the expression on Dean's face. "I'm running for the White House."

Dean turned to the TV, right as an animated Uncle Sam pointed at him and said, "I want you...to like Dick!"

A squadron of bosomy girls in uniform burst onscreen, kicking their legs in the air and singing, "I LIKE DICK, YOU LIKE DICK, EVERYBODY LIKES DICK."

"Cas," said Dean, taking a step back, "That thing you were talking about-"

"Oh yes Castiel," said Roman, "Do show him your little master plan to destroy me and all my kind."

Dean looked down at the book. Over and over and over again, the same four words crowded the white space of the pages.

ALL HOPE IS LOST

(*)

Dean took Castiel's hand, desperate to knock sense into him, when a spark glittered in the angel's eyes.

"I am glad you found your way here, Dean. It is clear to me." said Cas, "I see what must be done now."

Castiel placed his hand on Dean's shoulder, and there was a sound like doves in flight. When he pulled away, they were outside, and Dean fell on his ass and watched his gun bounce across the ground.

"Cas, where the hell are we?"

Castiel stared at the blue vault of Heaven, his wings casting a shadow so long it stretched from one end of the mountains to the other. "Nevada."

Dean looked across the desert. The earth was flat and cracked in all directions, with no sign of animal tracks or human traffic. He sat up and cleaned his hands against his bluejeans, the dirt as fine as ashes.

"The Leviathans'll find us, even out here."

"I know."

Dean licked his lips nervously. "What's gonna happen?"

"The Leviathans were wise to get ride of me early on," said Castiel, his voice unrecognizable, "They knew there would be an accounting one day."

Castiel lifted his hand, and the sky went black. Dean shivered in the sudden cold, the clouds boiling over their heads.

"So you're gonna try and fix this yourself?"

A horrible noise rose up from the horizon, hundreds of black figures appearing in the heat haze, and Dean knew the Leviathans had spotted them.

"Yes. They are coming for me," said Cas, "They know what I plan to do."

"Send 'em back home, to Purgatory?"

"No Dean. They no longer have the right to atone. The Leviathans must go the way of all flesh," said Cas, lowering his hand and turning to face Dean finally, "All of them."

"What're you gonna do?"

"Gather their numbers in one place," said Castiel distantly, as if reading from a script, "Sacrifice the soul of the righteous man to call forth the whirlwind and bring them low."

A cold finger wormed it's way to Dean's heart, and he bunched up his shirt at his chest, forgetting to breath. "My soul..." he whispered, as the angel stretched out his hand toward him, "Please don't, you can still fix this without more blood on your hands."

But Castiel was changed, unnatural now. Naked save for his wings, the mountains shown thru him slightly, like passing your hand behind fine porcelain. Their faces were inches away, Dean sprawled on the ground and Castiel bending over like he had a secret to tell.

"It'll kill me Cas, won't it."

"It's a mercy."

A stray tear rolled down Dean's cheek. All he could think about was that if someone found his body after tonight they'd go thru his wallet and never know his real name. He rubbed his face off the shoulder of his cotton shirt. "Why's my end gotta be in this godforsaken place?"

"It is not forsaken," said Cas, looking across the dead heart of America, "God brings His loved ones to the quiet places, so they may hear Him."

The air was charged around Castiel, raising the hairs on the back of Dean's neck, and he wanted to shrink away. He needed a distraction.

"I'm sorry I left you in that crazy tank, I am, but you need to think straight. I can't let you do this."

"The Lord sent me as His instrument, and I delivered mankind into the hands of strange children. I must do this. Even if I'm never forgiven I must..." Cas faltered, his eyes glimmering in the dark, "Do you know how long I have lived under the curse of God's perfection?"

"We're all cursed," Dean whispered, his expression softening, "Don't think that way, that's how the devil gets you."

Lightning forked behind Castiel's head, and Dean gave him a shaky smile. "I've been where you're at, all my life. Nowhere to go and..." he said, leaning in, "No place to stay?"

He pressed his lips to the corner of Castiel's mouth, trembling, almost chaste. It was quick, but for a moment the angel seemed to be lit from within, his teeth and bones standing in relief against his face. Castiel's eyes moved the slightest fraction.

"What was that?" Dean whispered. The pressure in his chest, an old ache from the grave, had lifted.

Cas tilted his head one way, questioning. "Do that again."

"What?"

He felt Cas' hand slide inside his shirt, the sudden warmth sending a thrill thru them. Pale fingers deliberated over where to go, following the lines of brown muscle over the heart, sliding along his ribs. Cas inhaled, and dust rose up to mingle with the smell of whiskey and gunpowder. For all Dean's hardness, he had a gentle mouth, lush and soft, and Cas let himself be pulled a little closer. Dean kissed him again, and this time their lips stayed until Cas's arm arm wound all the way around Dean's waist.

Cas went down on one knee and then the other, Dean resting on his elbows and looking up at him. The angel was more unsettling this close up, for the wind did not tangle a hair on his head, and when he knelt he hovered just over the surface, so that he did not mark the dust. And yet there was a sweetness in his face, his dark eyelashes, the innocent blush that now crept up his cheeks.

Dean held his breath, waiting for Cas to speak.

"I suspected as much." said Cas, narrowing his eyes.

"Suspected what?" Dean's eyes slipped down the front of Cas's body for a moment, and snapped back up to his eyes.

"That you lost something on the journey from Hell," Cas continued, "That in the ensuing chaos a measure of your soul cleaved to me..."

Cas spread his hand over his chest and looked down, as if feeling for signs of infection. "...spreading thru my grace like leavening."

"That's a good thing?"

"Two pieces of the same soul may reflect God in each other, immeasurably so, as you would see yourself stretch to infinity when facing two mirrors to each other."

"I don't understand Cas..."

Cas ran his hand over Dean's face, his mouth, his cheeks, and his fingertips glowed with holy light. He could have swallowed a thousand of the damned and not wielded so much strength. Dean closed his eyes, not letting a noise escape him though his legs quivered under the angel's touch. Such creatures could crack the mountains, and he couldn't dwell on that.

"And now?"

"And now the piece," said Cas, "Calls out to the whole."

Cas lightly ran his thumb over Dean's lip, testing it, licking his own lips in unconscious response. Dean breathed a little harder, and felt himself harden in his jeans. It had been a long time since he'd brawled with Cas, was he really stronger then Dean? Or just looked stronger? Dean had been with the odd first-timer, and he tried to slip back into his usual swagger, but under Cas' hand all his cool words deserted him.

"Undress." said Cas, and Dean realized he only heard his voice in his head, for the wind whipped past like a speeding train.

"What?"

"Undress." he said, and pulled at his sleeve as if searching for instructions.

Dean held his gaze, blood pounding in his ears as he undid his shirt with shaky fingers. The wind was deafening now, but he imagined he heard the buttons coming undone. Castiel was frightening this close up, blue eyes searching him for some superficial flaw that indicated a deeper fault.

Did angels know how to fasten a shoelace, knot a tie? Dean reached for his boots and began to unlace them, a little embarrassed for his bare feet when Cas's finger trailed the blue vein criss-crossing his ankle. Unbuckling his belt, Dean watched Cas grow anxious, and slid his jeans past his hips, feeling an extra pair of hands fumbling to aid him. He remembered past days, when Cas would confide in him, fear to lose Dean's good opinion, and wondered if that might be lost after tonight. The clouds pulsed with heat lightning, and Dean felt his heart skip as a hand ran thru his dark blonde hair, smoothing it, catching the bristles along the back of his neck.

Dean spat into Cas' hand, leading it down and sneaking a glance at Cas' ample cock, as thick as he suspected it must have been from the moment they met. Their bodies weren't touching, not yet, yet Dean felt terribly exposed with the wind skating over him, coiling up his spine and over his flat belly. He wanted to wrap his arms around himself, to protect himself from Cas' scrutiny, but lay still.

Cas' hand reached around Dean, under one knee and flattening against the small of his back until Dean arched at his touch. The wind picked up speed, scattering dust everywhere until Dean's vision blurred and everything changed color except for those blue eyes.

"Put your hands here." said Cas, lifting Dean's hands to his shoulders. He slipped his free arm around Dean, burying his face in his neck as if to conceal himself. "Do not try to look at me until I tell you. It will not be my face."

The sky turned in a clockwise spiral, thickening into a black column as Cas grew hotter. "O-okay." Dean said, his voice breaking. He felt Cas smile against his skin, and it terrified him.

Cas drove into him. It wasn't the hasty, unsure act of a teenager, but a sharp, warm sting, one great snap following another like two parts of a machine that had finally locked and been set in motion. Dean tried to be quiet, to set his mind to their impending danger, but soon he shut his eyes and felt his head go.

He'd spent his whole life struggling to escape the things that might try to shape him in another's image, a soldier for John, a civilian for Lisa. And now he struggled for breath as he was crushed between the earth and a penitent angel, bigger and harder then any man and stretching him to suit his need. Cas' nails bit into his back, marking the skin as he went on and on until both men were slick with sweat.

Cas glowed as if made of moonlight, the storm gathering strength from him as a fan will turn over an open flame. But Dean couldn't help but think that any kind of fight, where he could move and possibly escape, would have been better then this, for both of them to be this vulnerable out in the open when a legion was approaching. Soon his whole body was throbbing from fear and desire, his cock forgotten and unbearably swollen between their bellies.

"We'll run out of time." he thought to himself, his senses returning sporadically between the rise and fall of Cas' hips, and his attempts to reason with the angel resulted in only a fiercer response, hammering into him with rapid blows, almost frenzied, beating him until Dean's body left a groove in the earth that prophets would later speak of for centuries.

The dark shapes grew steadily closer, some figures becoming recognizable, and Dean clenched his teeth against the side of Cas' face. Their bodies were twisted at an odd slant now, both Cas' hands cupping his ass and angling into him, his open mouth pressed to Dean's throat in a silent plea. It seemed this night would never end.

"They are close now."

Cas' hand plunged down now, to take Dean's cock between thumb and forefinger, and Dean would never recall if his touch were cold or burning, but he remembered being very afraid. He felt two red spots appear in his cheeks, and his hands hovered just at Cas' hips, barely touching them as they took up a more punishing pace.

His head fell back against Cas's arm, letting him kiss his open throat and murmuring something that might have been his name. Every now and then he would glimpse their enemy in the distance, and his desire would flag, but that heady craving began to mount as Cas pushed his legs apart wider, his hips tilting up and hungry for more of his slick, hard cock.

"They'll find us." Dean gasped.

Cas said nothing, planting hard, wet kisses beneath Dean's jaw. Dean's back scraped against the hard earth, but he ignored the pain, straining against Cas and lifting them both off the ground as if he could never be filled, as if he never wanted Cas to stop kissing him, and finally came in a wave of heat with the angel still snapping cruelly into him when he lay in a boneless heap.

With a last, brutal thrust, Cas made a noise, stopping in place with his head bowed, and the desert became as quiet as if someone had flipped a switch. Dean looked around, ears pricked.

"Cas...?"

He was about to look over when the sky burst forth, a hollow pillar of smoke a mile wide that descended on all sides and struck the ground with a seismic tremor so loud it could be heard in outer space. With a gasp, Cas rocked into Dean, a note of despair escaping him, and as he came in single, timeless moment of denied longing, the Leviathans were sucked up into Heaven like bubbles in a glass of champagne.

"Dean..." he croaked, "The whirlwind..."

"Yes?"

"Close your eyes."

Dean shut his eyes, clutching Cas for dear life as the creatures were torn to pieces around them, pulled apart in a vertical slurry of meat and bone. He would have lept up and tried to run, if not for the beating of Castiel's wings to reassure him, covering their faces from the wind.

Much later (hours?), Dean opened his eyes to a blue sky again, as if awakened from a dream. He hesitated to move, afraid Cas would be changed, would look back at him with different eyes, but Cas stirred before he did.

Cas furrowed his eyebrows, his hair standing at odd ends. "What?"

Dean smiled. The important things had not changed.

"Let's go home."

***THE END***


End file.
